


Pillow (Fight) Talk

by ScottieIsImpatient



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Episode: s01e16 Shuttlepod One, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Shuttlepod One, could be slash if u squint, malcolm and trip are dumbasses, pillow fights everywhere, post Shuttlepod One
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:27:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23910802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScottieIsImpatient/pseuds/ScottieIsImpatient
Summary: After the events of Shuttlepod One, Doctor Phlox has ordered Malcolm and Trip to take three days off duty in order to recover. Cue the angst, fluff, and dumbass shenanigans.(Previously titled "Three Days")
Relationships: Malcolm Reed & Charles "Trip" Tucker III
Comments: 31
Kudos: 53





	1. Day One

**Author's Note:**

> Malcolm Reed and Trip Tucker are absolute geniuses on their own. But if you put them together? They share one (1) brain cell.

Even if Tucker didn’t vocally respond, the sound of his gentle breathing was enough to confirm he was still there. Malcolm knew it ridiculous. An officer couldn’t just vanish when you looked away. Regardless, it satisfied the prickle of paranoia in the back of his neck.

“Sleep well, my friend.” Malcolm sighed and tugged the blanket up to his chin. Yes, he considered the commander his friend. How could he not? Malcolm had spilled arguably one of his greatest secrets to the man, and in return, the engineer had shown a side Malcolm never thought existed. Underneath that laidback American exterior was someone careful and kind. Someone who’d almost tried to kill himself just so Malcolm could live a little longer.

Malcolm screwed his eyes shut. _No. I am not going to think about that._

A shiver went down his spine and he curled in on himself, stiff fingers struggling to keep the blanket in his grasp. Was the heat even on? It had to be on. Phlox would never leave hypothermic patients in a cold room. That would be irresponsible of the doctor.

Briefly, Malcolm considered calling for the doctor and asking for another blanket, but his pride prevented it. He could manage. His eyelids were beginning to feel heavy. He just needed to rest…

A light shone in his face when he woke up. Malcolm groaned and raised an aching arm to shield himself. _What a wakeup alarm._

Gingerly, he pushed himself into a sitting position, blinking rapidly. His head was buzzing, and his entire body felt stiff. Perhaps he’d slept wrong.

A blurry shape passed by him. “Phlox,” Malcolm muttered, but in the blink of an eye, the figure was gone.

This was the least of his worries, however.

Malcolm’s blood ran cold. Colder, even, than when he’d been inflicted with hypothermia.

He was back in the shuttle; a blanket draped around his body; the NX-01 cap tugged onto his head as far as it could go.

“No…”

He was dreaming. This had to be a dream. He and Tucker had been rescued by the Enterprise crew. Malcolm had even confirmed it by asking Subcommander T’Pol that ridiculous question.

 _I’m still in sickbay,_ Malcolm decided. He concentrated on slowing his breathing down and closed his eyes. _I’m having a nightmare. That’s all. Just a nightmare. I really hope I don’t talk in my sleep this time…_

“Malcolm!”

The voice was faint, but its owner was unquestionably crying for help. Malcolm’s gaze snapped up and, filled with a sudden rush of adrenaline, he leapt to his feet.

“Malcolm!” The voice said again. It was farther away this time, but there was no mistaking the accented lilt it had.

“Trip?”

“Mal… Malcolm!”

He still didn’t know where the voice was coming from. Hell, it could be coming from inside his _head_ for all he knew.

 _I’m dreaming,_ he reminded himself. _I’m dreaming. Trip’s fine. Trip’s fine. We’re fine._

_The airlock!_

His mantra was interrupted by a surge of panic. Stumbling on frozen legs, Malcolm lunged forward and jabbed at the keypad. Nightmare or not, there was no way he would let Trip die in there.

“Come on, come on.” Malcolm gritted his teeth and punched in the last of the code. He raised one shaking arm and pushed open the hatch.

What greeted him was open space, looking much to calm for such a situation. His breath caught in his throat. Would it have been worse to see Trip’s lifeless face staring at him? Malcolm didn’t know. Malcolm didn’t _want_ to know. He just wanted to get out of there. This wasn’t any dream. Nor was it a nightmare. It was real.

Eventually, his shaking legs couldn’t support his weight any longer. He came crashing down the ladder, left to lie motionless on the floor while the stars taunted him from afar.

Left to die.

“Malcolm!”

Trip’s barking voice launched Malcolm back into reality in full force. He flung himself up into a sitting position much too fast, resulting in quick onslaught of dizziness in which he was certain he would throw up. Fortunately, he managed to hold it down.

“Are you alright, Lieutenant?” Doctor Phlox inquired in his usual chirpy voice. Malcolm waited for the world to stop spinning to nod. “Just a… a rather unsettling dream.”

“Must’ve been unsettlin’ if you were callin’ my name,” Trip said. A smile spread across his face but there were beads of sweat along his forehead. He was obviously having a hard time staying upright.

“Doctor, is there an appropriate reason for Commander Tucker to be out of bed?”

“I believe he was attempting to get you to stop thrashing around before you broke something,” Phlox replied. “However, given that you are now awake, I must ask the commander to return to his bed.”

Trip’s face fell and he shot a mock glare at the lieutenant. “Snitch.”

“If I have to be stuck here, then so do you,” Malcolm said, smirking.

“I can stand!”

“You were practically falling over not a moment ago.”

“Gentlemen, please,” Doctor Phlox interrupted their banter. “The best thing for the both of you right now would be to get some rest, hm? You may not be showing severe symptoms of hypothermia any longer but that does not mean you are cleared to return to your quarters. Or your stations,” he added, noticing Malcolm open his mouth.

“Well, I was sleepin’ peacefully like a good patient until Mister Sleep-Talker over here decided to start trashin’ the place.” Trip jabbed a thumb in the armoury officer’s direction. Malcolm was ready to retaliate, but even Phlox was beginning to look rather tired of their defiance. “We’ll rest, sir,” Malcolm reassured him. Phlox seemed to heave a sigh of relief and nodded. “Alright. I’ll be in the lab next door. I believe my Anjulan Fire Roaches are about to begin their rather fascinating mating cycle!”

Trip and Malcolm exchanged a look of disgust as the doctor left the room.

Malcolm straightened out the blankets the best he could and collapsed onto his side, one arm beneath his head, and let his eyelids flicker shut.

“What were you dreamin’ about that had you cryin’ for my help, anyway?”

Malcolm groaned, opening his eyes. “What part of ‘getting some rest’ did you not understand?”

Trip ignored him and pressed on. “And I thought the ‘Stinky’ thing was weird. _Yer_ the tactical officer. I half expect you to call yer own name whenever yer in danger.”

“Trip, just-!” Malcolm stopped himself before he snapped something he regretted. Trip stared at him; brown eyes full of understanding. He’d gone too far. “Sorry, Malcolm. I’ll drop it.”

Malcolm flopped back down on his pillow and sighed. Whatever exhaustion had crept up on him last time wasn’t about to make a return any time soon. For a while he just lay there, staring at the sterile white ceiling, counting the seconds in his mind.

“I dreamt you’d gone up into the airlock,” Malcolm said quietly.

He didn’t have to look to know Trip had sat up. The rustling sheets were enough. “What?”

 _I really have to say it again, don’t I?_ Oh, well. He couldn’t back down now.

“I dreamt you’d gone up into the airlock while I was asleep.”

A heavy silence lay between them. Malcolm was beginning to wonder if he’d said the wrong thing, when Trip spoke up again.

“Damn.”

A dry chuckle escaped Malcolm’s lips. “’Damn’ is right.” With a slight grunt, he pushed himself upright with his back leaning against the pillows. “I knew I was dreaming, too. It’s stupid. When I opened the airlock, all I saw were stars. It should’ve struck me that, had it been real, I’d have been dead within seconds.”

“Well,” Trip responded, choosing his words carefully, “sometimes… even the most outrageous things can feel real when we’re dreaming. Hey, I once had a dream that there was this massive dinosaur chasing after me. Ridiculous, right? Dinosaurs have been extinct for millions of years and I was, like, eighteen, so I sure as hell wasn’t a schoolboy no more. But it still felt real. It only got worse when the thing got ahold o’ Lizzie.”

“Lizzie?” Malcolm echoed. He had a vague notion of a Lizzie somewhere in Trip’s past, but he couldn’t recall what significance she held.

“My baby sister,” Trip explained. “And, damn, if I wouldn’t do anythin’ for her.”

This made Malcolm think of his own sister, Madeline. Compared to Trip and Lizzie, Malcolm and Madeline seemed more like acquaintances than siblings. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d even _talked_ to her openly. She’d been one of the few family members to not try and talk him out of joining Starfleet, but that was about it.

If Malcolm had died on that shuttle, his sister would be attending a stranger’s funeral.

“Oi, Malcolm,” Trip said, dragging him out of his thoughts for the second time that hour. “You okay? Are you cold?”

Suddenly aware his hands were shaking, Malcolm shoved them under the blankets. “Yeah, I’m fine. I suppose I’m just getting fed up with your drawling voice.”

“Oh, like your accent is any better.” Trip brought the tips of his thumb and fore finger together and held it up to once eye, clearly a representative of a monocle. “More tea, governor? Two sugars, please, my dear old mum!”

Malcolm nodded approvingly. “Yes, you do sound considerably more intelligent.”

Trip’s pillow hit him square in the chest. “Shut up.”

“Thanks for the extra pillow.”

“Give it back.”

“You can’t ask someone to return that which was given as a gift. That’s just rude.”

Trip was trying so hard to look pissed off, but the only thing Malcolm saw was an angry kitten.

“Malcolm, I swear, I will come over there and beat yer ass-”

“Am I interrupting something?”

On instinct, Malcolm snapped to attention the moment he heard Captain Archer’s voice. His stiff joints protested at the sudden movement, but he told himself to deal with it. “S-sir.”

“Cap’n,” Trip uttered. “Fancy meetin’ you here.”

Archer chuckled. “I decided to drop by to see how my officers were doing. Clearly, I didn’t need to worry.”

“Oh, Captain!” Phlox exclaimed, skipping over. “I didn’t realize you’d come in. I was in the next room observing the mating patterns of my Anjulan Fire Roaches; an extremely interesting process, to say the least-”

“Fascinating, doctor,” the Captain interrupted. “What about Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed?”

“Ah, yes!” Doctor Phlox bustled his way over to Trip’s bedside and began fiddling with the monitor. “Aside from some minor frostbite to his toes and fingers, Commander Tucker is in good health. The same can be said for the lieutenant as well,” he made his way over to Malcolm’s side, “however, due to his small frame, the lieutenant may need a little more time for his body to fully recover.”

Trip buried his face in his hands to muffle his laughter.

Malcolm glanced first to Phlox, then to his captain. “Sirs?”

“He’s sayin’,” Trip piped up, “that yer so small yer body couldn’t combat the cold as well as me.”

Malcolm rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Trip. Extremely helpful.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Malcolm,” Captain Archer reassured him, giving his armoury officer a gentle clap on the shoulder. Malcolm sighed. “Yes, sir.”

“I suppose I should leave you two to rest, then.” Archer took a step back and nodded to acknowledge them. “The doctor says he’ll have you out of here in a day.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, sir,” Malcolm said, “what time is it?”

“And how long since we were found adrift?”

A flash of discomfort appeared on Archer’s face. As sudden as it was, Malcolm was an expert at picking up facial expressions and body language. This, of course, sparked worry in the armoury officer’s mind.

“As I recall, we recovered your shuttle at around 1300 hours or so.” Archer glanced to Phlox, as if he were looking for verification. The doctor nodded.

“If you don’t mind my being blunt, I was seriously considering the possibility of having to continue this mission without two of my best men.”

Trip and Malcolm looked at each other. _This just took a dark turn._

“Fortunately, Doctor Phlox was able to warm your bodies back up to an acceptable temperature. We had a cardiac arrest scare,” though he didn’t say a name, Malcolm caught the captain’s eyes ever so slightly drifting towards him, “but you both pulled through. That was about… 1900 hours or thereabouts.”

“It’s nearing midnight right about now,” Phlox finished. “I will be releasing you both to your quarters tomorrow, but _only_ on the condition that you get some rest. Hm? Sound reasonable?”

“You _do_ realize we’re not children, Phlox,” Trip said. Phlox nodded. “Oh, of course. However, I have read that the maturity of an adult human male is known to decrease in certain situations. Would this account for the, uh, pillow throwing?”

Simultaneously, Trip and Malcolm stared down at the pillow, which now lay propped against the side of Malcolm’s bed.

“I apologize,” Malcolm said quickly. He mentally slapped himself for reverting to such childish behaviour. “It won’t happen again.”

“Get some sleep,” was all Archer said, grinning as he left sickbay. Phlox gave them both a warning look before he, too, left the room.

“Malcolm, can you, uh, toss my pillow back?”

Without glancing up, Malcolm stretched his arm over the side of the bed and curled his fingers around the fabric.

“Nice throw,” Trip commented, catching it with both hands. Malcolm shrugged. And rolled onto his side, facing away from Trip.

It took him a while to fall asleep. For hours, Malcolm just lay there, listening to his friend’s soft and even breathing. He couldn’t help but worry that, when he opened his eyes, he’d find himself right back in that shuttlepod with nothing but the stars to keep him company. He couldn’t help but worry that Trip would be dead by the time he awoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boom, chapter one done. Hope y'all liked it. I actually edited it for once. *GASP*


	2. Day Two: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: c'mon, I know ur not stupid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may notice I've changed this story's total chapter length. I'm still not sure of an exact number but I should have a definitive answer soon.  
> Day 2 was originally going to be one chapter, but it proved to be too difficult trying to get everything into a single chapter. Unless I wanted a really long ass one, but I hate long chapters. Can't read 'em; can't write 'em.  
> Thus, Day 2 has been split into two (ha)  
> I won't keep y'all any longer. Enjoy the fic, and please excuse any and all OOC moments!

Malcolm stood in front of the sickbay doors and found himself, rather uncharacteristically, wishing he _wasn’t_ returning to his quarters. He still hadn’t figured out what he was going to do for the next two days, let alone how he’d interact with his crewmates. A childish side of him wanted to crawl into bed and hide.

“I dunno ‘bout you, Malcolm, but I’m ready to straight up incinerate this uniform,” Trip remarked. He tugged at his open collar and grimaced. “My hair could use a good wash too. Hell, maybe you were even right about shaving.”

Malcolm smirked. “I’m always right. You should listen to me more: it may keep you out of trouble a lot more often.”

Trip sighed and shook his head, reaching for the door controls. “Take it easy, gentlemen!” Doctor Phlox called from somewhere among his zoo of alien creatures. The doors slid shut, and Malcolm’s worries returned. He still had no idea how he was going to handle being idle for the next couple of days.

“Hey, Malcolm,” Trip said softly, forehead creased in concern. “You okay?”

“Perfectly,” the lieutenant replied, forcing a small grin. _Please don’t talk to me like I’m helpless._

Given that it was already 0900 hours, much of the crew were at their stations, but those off duty or on break walked the halls, often in pairs or groups of three. Malcolm resisted the urge not to find a more vacant route to Deck B. Trip, on the other hand, was being his usual self.

“You realize this isn’t a vacation,” Malcolm said as Trip high-fived a fourth person. “I daresay you look rather idiotic.”

Trip’s face flashed briefly with hurt, but he wiped it away quickly. “Loosen up, Malcolm. We’re off-duty.”

Malcolm stopped in his tracks and whirled around, grabbing Trip’s arm. “We’re off-duty because we almost _died,_ ” the lieutenant snapped. “This isn’t shore leave. This is _medical_ leave. I don’t think you realize what that really means so I’ll spell it out for you. _We’re unfit for duty._ ”

The silence that hung between them was heavy. It took a while for Malcolm’s brain to catch up with what he’d just blurted out, but by the time he opened his mouth to apologize it was already too late.

Trip glanced everywhere except at Malcolm, pursing his lips and nodding. “I see,” the engineer said quietly. He took a step back. Malcolm let go of his arm, suddenly feeling lightheaded.

“Whatever issues you’ve got with bein’ in authority, leave me out of ‘em,” Trip said coldly. “I’m an engineer from Florida. Not a soldier. I’m sorry I don’t live up to your _expectations,_ Lieutenant.” He spun on his heel and stormed away.

All too late, Malcolm called after him, but either he didn’t hear or didn’t care.

The latter was more likely.

A rush of panic hit him, and he glanced around, praying to whatever deity wanted to listen that no one had overheard. An open argument with a fellow crewman would only dampen his reputation further.

_Maybe that’s your problem,_ a cynical voice whispered. _You don’t value others for who they are, only for how they perceive you._

“Not true,” Malcolm muttered aloud, starting for the elevator. The corridors had chosen a very convenient time to empty, and though it was improbable, Malcolm couldn’t help but wonder if the negative nature of an argument had drawn everyone away.

Bloody hell, he was beginning to sound like his superstitious aunt.

Ensign Tanner clambered onto the elevator on D deck. Malcolm, suddenly very self-conscious about his current state, did his best to stand as far away as possible in such an enclosed space. Tanner didn’t seem to mind much. He greeted his superior officer with a smile and a nod. “Good to see you back aboard, sir.”

“Good to be back aboard, Ensign.”

Never one for small talk, he was grateful when Tanner parted ways as soon as they reached B deck.

Malcolm’s quarters had always been spotless and organized. What few personal items he’d brought on board were either tucked away or displayed neatly on his desk. It’s how he’d always liked it.

This time was different. When Malcolm walked in, the bland and impersonal nature felt accusing.

For one long minute Malcolm just stood in the open doorway, staring ahead aimlessly. Someone had placed his copy of _Ulysses_ on his desk. His coat was hanging from the back of his chair. Other than that, everything was the same.

He didn’t like it.

_I’m just tired,_ he told himself, yawning as if to prove it. _And in desperate need of a shower._

Malcolm peeled off his jumpsuit and turned on the shower but didn’t step in right away. His gaze fixated on the mirror.

The man staring back wasn’t him. This man had grey-blue eyes which stood out from his pale complexion. His chin was covered in stubble; his hair had fallen flat and stuck to his forehead with grease.

This man wasn’t Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, former navy officer, current tactical officer aboard the NX-01 Enterprise. This man looked lost.

Malcolm sighed and stepped into the shower, letting the water wash his sense of listlessness away.

He began to sympathize with Tucker wanting to incinerate the jumpsuits. For a brief moment, he even contemplated doing so. A quick phaser blast or even just tossing it into space would do the trick, but there were hardly an abundance of spare uniforms lying around.

Malcolm reluctantly tossed it into the laundry shoot and pulled on a plain T-shirt instead. Slowly but surely, he was reverting to his old self again. The lost man in the mirror had begun to vanish.

His doorbell chirped. “Come in,” Malcolm said without thinking. Quickly, he dropped his comb in the sink and slipped out of the bathroom.

Captain Archer stood in his doorway, grinning. Malcolm snapped to attention out of habit. He wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or embarrassed. _Of all people._

“Relax, Lieutenant,” the captain assured him, “You’re not in any kind of trouble. I just came by to see how you were doing.”

“Oh.” Malcolm’s shoulders relaxed. “Well, I’m doing fine, sir. Just a bit tired.”

“I’d be surprised if you weren’t.”

They were silent as they stared at each other. Malcolm opened his mouth. “I… just had a shower,” he said stupidly. Archer raised an eyebrow.

“Not that it matters. Erm, have you seen Commander Tucker?”

“Just a few minutes ago. Why?”

“Is he alright?” The words were out before Malcolm could stop them.

The corners of Archer’s mouth quirked upwards. “Unless something’s happened between the time I left his quarters and the time I arrived at yours, Trip’s doing just fine.” He paused. “Is there a reason you’re so worried?”

“I’m not worried, sir, I’m…” Malcolm trailed off. He _was_ worried. It felt odd. A couple months ago, he probably wouldn’t have given a damn about the engineer. Might have even _let_ him crawl into that airlock.

_I really just_ had _to go and think about that, didn’t I?_

“He seemed a bit… on edge.” Malcolm decided to say, knowing full well the statement was obvious.

But the captain didn’t point this out, much to Malcolm’s surprised. Archer just sighed and shook his head. “We all are, Lieutenant. Get some rest. I’m needed on the bridge.”

“Oh, sir, I’ll-” Malcolm froze with his hand reaching for his coat, the full force of reality beginning to sink in. Just _what_ was he going to do; stroll onto the bridge in his civilian clothes? Grab a bowl of popcorn and sit back and watch? No, there wasn’t a thing he could do. He was utterly useless.

The Captain seemed to sense the Lieutenant’s disappointment but chose not to pry. “Get some rest,” he said again before stepping back out into the hallway.

It wasn’t an order, but Malcolm felt the need to treat it like one. He ran a hand through his damp hair and lay flat on his back, concentrating on his breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

He was suddenly hyperaware of every limb in his body. His leg bounced on its own, his hands twitching. And no matter what, his eyes wouldn’t stay closed.

Frustrated, Malcolm pulled himself into a sitting position. Perhaps he could consult T’Pol about some Vulcan sleep techniques.

He glanced at the wall communicator. She was likely on the bridge and would be for a good twelve hours more, if not longer. Besides, what business did he have, asking such a personal question to a higher-ranking officer? Malcolm pushed the thought out of his mind.

Getting any kind of sleep was out of the question. As it was, Malcolm wasn’t one to take naps. He began to pace in a circle, mind listing off activities as if he were on an away mission.

Could he hit the gym? A couple miles on the treadmill usually worked wonders, but Malcolm couldn’t stand the thought of having to shower a second time.

His eyes drifted to the computer equipment atop his desk. Sure, he wasn’t on duty, but that didn’t mean he had to stay away from all his work, right? They were more for passing time than anything. If they helped the ship, then it was just an added bonus.

_Three cheers for loopholes,_ Malcolm thought, tugging on a civilian sweater. He’d have to get a few things from down in engineering but most of the work could be done from in his quarters. He’d be in and out within a couple of minutes.

Though the corridors were relatively empty, engineering was expectedly packed. The warp engine hummed just a little louder than usual, and someone must have upgraded the lights as well. Ever so subtly, Malcolm shielded his eyes and headed for tactical station A.

“Lieutenant Reed!” Ensign Meng said, the right side of her mouth quirked up in a lopsided grin. “I didn’t know you’d be coming back to work so early.”

“Oh, um, I’m not.” He handed the ensign his list. “Do you have spares of these lying around?”

Meng glanced at the list and shrugged. “I’ll see what I can find.”

“Thanks.”

“So, you want to guess who’s been made chief tactical officer in your absence?”

Malcolm’s mind drifted back to reality. “Sorry?”

“It’s not like the position is permanent. I’m only holding it for- aw, man, I gave it away.”

A chuckle escaped Malcolm’s lips. “You? I thought Ensign Tanner was next in line.”

Ensign Meng gave him a smirk. “Oh, he is. He didn’t want it.”

Malcolm glanced over at Tanner, who was happily working on calibrating simulations with another member of the crew. “Huh. Why am I not surprised?”

“He’s never liked leadership positions.” Meng straightened up and handed Malcolm his PADD back. “These’ll work, I hope?”

“These are fine, thank y-”

“Hold ‘er steady, Vince!”

Malcolm whirled around at where the every so familiar drawl had come from. He tried to feel surprise but ultimately found it impossible. Some part of him had already known.

Judging by how grease-stained Tucker’s sleeves and face were, Malcolm could guess he’d been down here for some time. Much longer than he, at the very least.

Malcolm stood dumbly off to the side, waiting for the commander to notice him. It soon became clear that the engineer had dedicated his entire soul to whatever he was working on. Growing impatient, Malcolm cleared his throat.

Tucker stared at him like he’d grown another head but didn’t say anything, so Malcolm got the ball rolling.

“You’re supposed to be off-duty.”

“That don’t mean I have to be confined to quarters. Besides, I could say the same ‘bout you.”

“I’m not on duty.”

“Oh?” Tucker raised a dirt-smudged eyebrow and snorted. “Then neither am I.”

“Comman-”

“It’s Trip, remember?”

“Trip,” Malcolm corrected himself. “You really shouldn’t down here. The warp engine won’t explode just because you’re not around.”

Trip sighed and hung his head. “I know that, Malcolm.”

The engineer’s voice had changed. One moment he’d been his usual snarky and optimistic self, and the next…

Malcolm had heard this voice before. On the shuttle, maybe a few moments before everything had gone black.

_“Maybe you were right.”_

The words haunted him. He’d done his best not to think about them; even forgotten them entirely. But now they’d returned, and with no intention of leaving this time.

“No, I wasn’t,” the Malcolm in the present answered softly for his past self. Trip glanced up. “What was that?”

“Nothing. Um, I should get back to my quarters.” Had engineering always been this sweltering?

Trip nodded. “See ya, Lieutenant.”

“It’s Malcolm,” Malcolm corrected with a smirk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmm, I love me some conflict


	3. Day Two: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm's day goes up. Then down. Then up again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo, another update. A couple of warnings for this one:
> 
> 1\. I literally finished writing this chapter five minutes ago. This means it hasn't been edited or read over. I'm unhappy with this chapter as it is, and if I read it over, I'd end up never publishing it.  
> 2\. Also the reason I'm unhappy with this chapter: OOC moments. It's not TOO too far-fetched but, like... Malcolm is most certainly NOT himself in this chapter. I am fully aware of all the inconsistencies so there's no need to comment on those.
> 
> Other than that, yer good to go. Thanks for stickin with me and my fic :3

Lunch time came and went, and Malcolm didn’t even notice he was hungry until he realized his hands were shaking. Carefully, he set down the PADD he’d been tapping away on and sighed. After almost three days eating only ration packets, the idea of real food, even resequenced, seemed like heaven.

He checked the time. 1700 hours. A little early for a proper supper, which meant the mess hall wouldn’t be as crowded.

 _I won’t stay long,_ he promised himself, tugging a jumper over his head. There was a slight chill everywhere he went that he just couldn’t shake. Phlox had assured there was nothing physically wrong. “A traumatic experience can take time to comprehend,” the good doctor had said with an abnormally large smile. “Just make sure to get plenty of rest.”

‘Traumatic experience’, huh? Malcolm didn’t like that. Memories flashed through his mind: episodes of post-traumatic stress disorder his grandfather had experienced. Malcolm wasn’t even six years old. He was supposed to be in bed, but a large crash had awoken him. He’d stumbled out of his room and headed down the hall, only to stop in his tracks when he saw his grandfather sobbing on the couch. Beside him, Malcolm’s grandmother was doing her best to calm him down. They were talking quietly. Malcolm couldn’t hear them.

And then his older sister had scooped him up and taken him back to his room.

Malcolm pushed the memory out of his mind as he entered the mess hall. A couple of crewmen smiled up at him from their tables as he made his way to the counter.

“Finally emerging from your cave?”

Hoshi stood behind him, grinning from ear to ear, with a mug of tea in one hand and a PADD in the other. Malcolm chuckled softly and took the first plate he set his eyes on. It smelled a little like seafood.

Hoshi seemed to pick it up, too. She frowned. “I thought you hated fish?”

“How on earth did you know that?”

The communications officer waved her hand dismissively. “I have my sources,” she said secretively. Malcolm grinned, realization flooding back. “The pineapple incident.”

“Ugh, I can’t keep anything from you!” Hoshi gave a dramatic sigh and flung her head back. Malcolm shrugged and started for an empty table. “You can’t exactly keep secrets from me that are _about_ me.”

“True. So, anyway, what have you been up to lately?” Hoshi switched off her PADD and leaned forward, face resting on her hands like a child eager for a bedtime story.

“Aside from trying not to die of boredom” – Malcolm scooped some mashed potato onto his fork – “very little. Sleeping. Admittedly, not very well.”

Hoshi frowned in concern. “Have you talked with Phlox? Maybe you can take something.”

“I’d rather be awoken by nightmares several times than get put to sleep via drugs.”

Hoshi’s frown only deepened and for a moment, Malcolm was horrified he’d shared a little too much. He didn’t feel like expanding on what his “nightmares” entailed.

Fortunately, Hoshi didn’t pry any further. “I heard Commander Tucker snuck his way into engineering,” she began. “Captain Archer had to kick him out.”

“I knew that was going to happen,” Malcolm scoffed.

“I also heard,” Hoshi continued, eyeing him with playful suspicion in her eyes, “that you were down there as well.”

“I didn’t try to hide it,” the lieutenant explained. “I needed some things to work on a personal project.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be _off-_ duty?”

“I am. Personal hobbies don’t count as ‘duty’, last time I checked.”

Hoshi drew back and brought a hand to her open mouth in mock surprise. “Lieutenant Reed using loopholes? And here I thought you were some stiff military man with no tolerance for such things.”

“If it doesn’t break the rules…” Malcolm trailed off and smirked.

The mess hall doors open, and Travis Mayweather stepped inside. Hoshi waved him over without missing a beat.

“Good to see you, sir,” the ensign said as he sat down. Malcolm gave a lopsided grin in return.

Before long, they were soon joined by a number of other crewmen, including Ensign Meng. Malcolm left the mess hall a good hour and a half later than he’d expected to. One part of him didn’t even want to leave at all, but his overly self-conscious side got the better of him.

“I’m afraid I should be getting back to my quarters,” the British officer informed the group. The conversation was put on hold just long enough for everyone to mutter a farewell before Malcolm headed for the corridors.

A sense of joy had begun to warm his heart from the friendly interactions. He may be scruffy, disheveled, and wearing sweatpants (of all things), but no one had treated him as someone less important than the Lieutenant Malcolm Reed he’d shown off since day one.

Perhaps they _were_ one and the same: the lost man in the mirror and the tactical officer.

For once, the sneering voice in the back of his mind didn’t voice its opinions.

Exhaustion hit Malcolm like a truck the moment he stepped into his quarters. Whatever force had kept him upright and alert in the mess hall had reached its limit.

He kicked off his shoes and tossed the jumper up onto the shelf. He’d put it back in the right place later. For now, he needed some well-deserved rest.

Malcolm practically collapsed onto his bed and was asleep within minutes.

The boy’s heart thundered in his chest as he crept down the hall. Every so often he would stop and listen for anyone approaching. If his father caught him out of bed after nine, there would be trouble.

He _had_ been asleep. The problem was, the boy wasn’t a deep sleeper. He was told it was a good thing – “it will help you when you join the navy”, as Father would say – but the boy had found it to be nothing but a nuisance as of late. Every other night or so, he would hear strange crashing coming from the main rooms. Curiosity had gotten the better of him on this particular night: he’d decided he’d investigate.

After what seemed like hours, the boy reached the living room. He discovered that a chair had been knocked over, presumably being the thing that had interrupted his sleep. Two figures also sat side by side on the couch.

The boy frowned. He _knew_ these people. His grandparents? No, these people were much younger and wore strange blue outfits.

“Trip.”

It took a moment for the boy to realize it was _he_ who’d spoken the word. Or, name, rather. It was a name. An odd one, he thought.

Not seconds later, the taller of the two figures lifted his head, revealing sad, hollow eyes and a tear-stained face. He opened his mouth and said something that the boy couldn’t hear. There was wind picking up, tossing the boy’s small frame this way and that, snatching all other sounds away.

It went away as suddenly as it had come. Hesitantly, Malcolm opened his eyes.

He was back on Enterprise, standing in Trip’s empty room. Tears were running uncontrollably down his face. Why was he crying? What had happened?

 _Dead,_ a disembodied voice whispered, and the lieutenant suddenly found himself thrust into the cold arms of open space.

Malcolm kicked the sheets off as if they’d bitten him, panting hard, drenched to the bone in a cold sweat. His mind was reeling. Absolute terror inhibited his ability to breathe properly. Unconsciously, a hand went to his hair and tightened his fingers around the strands. _Calm down. Calm down._ His scalp was beginning burn. He knew he should let go before he ended up giving himself a bald spot. Malcolm forced his hand back down into his lap, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.

He couldn’t even remember the nightmare anymore, but the aftermath remained. Malcolm’s heart was racing. There was no way he’d be getting back to sleep now.

Abrupt panic seized him, and Malcolm’s eyes shot open. Something was compelling him to his feet and pushing him across the room, towards the intercom. _Trip!_ His mind screamed in urgency, though Malcolm had no idea where this unprompted desperation had come from.

 _This is idiotic,_ a cold voice sneered in the back of his mind. He pushed it away and punched in Trip’s room number. “Commander?” he whispered into the com, hating the tremble in his voice. There was no response.

“Commander?” Malcolm tried again, his heart skipping a beat. Vivid images of the nightmare returned and, as odd the recollections were, Malcolm became unconvinced his nightmare had been nothing but a creation of his own mind.

He tried one more time, but to no avail. Could Trip be in trouble? No, even worse. Trip could be dead.

Malcolm was just tugging on his jumper when finally, _finally,_ the intercom let out a disturbingly happy chirp. He slammed the button with his fist. “Trip?”

 _“Malcolm?”_ The engineer’s voice was slurred and confused. _“Wha’ the hell? What’re you callin’ me in the middle of the night for?”_

“I-I…” Malcolm felt like he’d just been possessed by a _very_ paranoid ghost. Except now the ghost was gone, and he was left to wade through the consequences of what it’d done.

“To tell you the truth,” Malcolm began again, “I was worried.”

An empty silence followed. Malcolm drew in a shuddering breath. His chest was beginning to tighten; he felt on the verge of tears. _Oh, sod off,_ he thought.

 _“Is everything a’right?”_ Trip finally responded. Malcolm nodded, then realizing that the engineer couldn’t see it, said, “yes.”

Another pause, though shorter this time. _“You sound awful,”_ Trip said. _“I’ve never heard yer voice shake like that. You sure everythin’s good over there?”_

“Positive,” the lieutenant breathed. It came out no louder than whisper; Malcolm suddenly aware that the tightening in his chest had only gotten worse. The room swayed beneath his feet. “’m fine,” he tried again. _Panic attack,_ he was thinking. _Bloody brilliant._

He hadn’t had one of these in… actually, he couldn’t remember the last time. He’d been young, that’s for sure. Late teens or thereabouts. His father had given him a good long lecture afterwards about how Reed men were stronger than their subconscious minds.

Unable to stand up any longer, Malcolm took a step back and collapsed into his desk chair. Trip’s voice yelled his name from somewhere far away, but he couldn’t make a move to respond. _Panic attack,_ the lieutenant thought again. He lay his head down on the desk and brought his hands over top of it. _Deep breaths. Calm down. Calm down._

He was beginning to come out of it when his doorbell chimed. “Come in,” Malcolm heard himself say. Slowly, he lifted his head to see who it was.

Trip, wearing only boxer shorts and a jacket, stood awkwardly with one foot in the doorway and the other out in the hall. He stared at Malcolm, who stared right back.

“Well, you look like absolute crap,” were the first words out of the engineer’s mouth. Malcolm blinked himself back into reality and chuckled dryly. “I _feel_ like absolute crap,” he muttered, resting his chin on his hands.

Trip hovered in the door for a few moments, clearly unsure of what to do. Malcolm raised an eyebrow. “So, what brings you to my humble abode?”

“Yer kidding, right?” Trip stared at him like he’d suddenly grown a second head. “The whole thing on the intercom? You woke me up, buzzing my room like that, and it didn’t help when that big crash came through.”

 _Big crash?_ Malcolm thought, his face growing red. “Oh. I don’t remember…”

Wrong choice of words. The worry on Trip’s face only heightened. “Don’t tell me to ‘go away’,” the commander interjected when he saw Malcolm open his mouth. “Listen, I know yer, like, _the_ most private person on this damn ship, but I ain’t leavin’ until you fill me in on what’s goin’ on and why you look like you’ve just been through hell.” Trip folded his arms and leaned against the doorway expectantly. “If you say ‘I’m fine’, I swear, Malcolm, I will drag yer ass to Phlox myself.”

For the second time in a matter of days, Malcolm caught a glimpse of the person beneath Trip Tucker’s exterior.

“I’m f-,” the Lieutenant started. Trip gave him a daring _go on_ look. Malcolm cleared his throat. “It was nothing. Just a nightmare. I lost control for a bit.”

 _Lost control?_ The cold, sneering voice from earlier was back. _You ‘lost control’? No, you did more than that. You let your desperation get ahold of you and you embarrassed yourself. To a superior officer, no less. You realize this is grounds for a medical-related dismissal._

“I mean, in my half-awake state, I accidentally called your room,” Malcolm corrected quickly. “I couldn’t convince myself that I wasn’t dreaming and thought you were…”

Trip tilted his head to the side as the lieutenant trailed off. “You ‘thought I was’ what?”

 _Curse this to hell,_ Malcolm thought.

 _Pack your bags,_ his mind hissed in response.

“Dead.” Malcolm closed his eyes. “I thought you were dead, sir.”

The silence was suffocating. Malcolm didn’t even realize he’d begun tugging on his hair again until a hand grabbed his wrist.

“It’s me!” Trip exclaimed, letting go as the tactical officer’s head snapped up abruptly. “Sorry. Shouldn’t’ve grabbed ya, but you looked like you were about to pull yer own hair out.”

Malcolm’s mouth was dry. “Bad habit,” he managed to get out. He glanced down at his computer, his keyboard, out his window; anywhere except Trip’s concerned gaze. _I don’t need your pity._

“It’s not pity.”

Malcolm whirled around. “I said that out loud?”

Trip shrugged and sighed. “Listen. I know you like to keep to yerself and that’s all well and good, but it only hurts in the long run. Think yer the only one havin’ nightmares? Before you woke me up rather rudely, I’d been watchin’ Enterprise get blown to bits from a shuttlepod, unable to help, and completely alone. Night before that, you an’ I were forced to trudge through a snowstorm. Yer not alone, Malcolm. I’m yer friend.”

“Oh, really?” Malcolm scoffed. Trip visibly winced but quickly recollected his composure. “Hell, yeah, I am. I was willing to crawl into an airlock to save yer ass. Is that enough proof for ya?”

Malcolm stilled. “Don’t mention the airlock,” the officer whispered, trying to contain the wobble in his voice. “Please. Just don’t.”

“Sore spot. Gotcha.

“It’s not a sore spot,” Malcolm retaliated, “it’s…”

It was _what_ , exactly? Trip was right. Or, at least, very close. Malcolm felt his heart sink. The walls he’d worked so carefully to build up were beginning to crumble right before his eyes.

“Oi, Malcolm. You listenin’ to my great speech here?”

“Yeah,” came the absentminded reply.

The engineer obviously wasn’t convinced. The pillow hit Malcolm in the face before he could even fully register what was going on.

“Watch it!” the Brit exclaimed. Trip smirked. “Pillows. Yer one weakness against zoning out, it seems.”

“You could have knocked something off my desk!”

“But I didn’t, did I?”

“That’s not the point, Trip.”

The engineer only waved his hand dismissively. “Whatever. Anyway, I just told ya what my nightmares were about. Now why don’t we make it even an’ you tell me about yers.”

Malcolm saw no other way out of it. With a deep breath, he started explaining. He explained first how he watched what post-traumatic stress did to his grandfather; he launched into his personal experience and how it had made an appearance in his dream. He explained how panicked he’d felt when he’d received no response from Trip at first, and when his story came to an end, Malcolm felt completely and utterly exhausted. There was also noticed a lightness in his body that hadn’t been there before.

Trip was sitting on the edge of Malcolm’s bed, grinning at him. “By yer face, I’m guessin’ I did some good here. Maybe I should consider work as a therapist.”

“Animal therapist, maybe,” Malcolm shot back with a smirk. “I doubt any human could stand to look at your face for more than five minutes at a time.”

“Only ‘cause they’d get blinded by how handsome I am.”

“Don’t be so sure.” Malcolm launched the pillow across the room. Trip, still a little groggy, fumbled to catch it. “You wanna go?”

“Excuse me?”

“Pillow fight. You wanna go?”

“There’s only one pillow in my room.”

Trip held it out at arms length and frowned. “Yeah. Right. I’ll give ya a rain check on it, then.”

“Sure,” Malcolm said uncertainly, getting to his feet. Almost a full hour had gone by since he’d woken up. It was now 0344.

Trip noticed this too. “I should git going before I pass out in the halls.”

“Don’t let the beta shift see you,” Malcolm said with a wink. Trip snorted and opened the door. “Of course, I won’t. Gotta keep my reputation as a gentleman.” He stepped into the hallway.

“Trip?”

“Yeah?” the engineer turned around, using his hand to steady himself on the doorway. Malcolm’s lips quirked to form a genuine smile. “You won’t tell anyone about this, I trust.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die, Lieutenant.” Trip drew an X across his chest and held up his other hand. “G’night, Malcolm.”

Malcolm’s smile grew wider. “Good night, Trip.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew. Any longer and I'd have to split day two into THREE parts.


	4. Day Three: Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Edit: as of May 24th this chapter has been rewritten. No super big changes, but a couple scenes have been added/removed or just sped up. I highly recommend rereading.]
> 
> I have risen from the dead! Worship me, peasants!
> 
> Nah, but really. Sorry for the extremely long wait. I was stuck in writer's block. If I'm being honest, I STILL am. I'm not particularly happy with the pacing and content of this chapter but I think it'll suffice.
> 
> Yes, I'm splitting yet another day in half. I like keeping my time frames small. Sue me. 
> 
> (This hasn't been read over even once so please expect and forgive any errors)

After Trip left, Malcolm, unfortunately, did not manage to get back to sleep. Indeed, he tried, but every attempt was met with a cascade of _what ifs_. What if this was all a dream? What if when we awoke, Trip really _would_ be dead?

He wanted to laugh at himself. He was acting like a bloody child.

When the time hit 0600, Malcolm deemed it acceptable to wander the mess hall without attracting stares. It wasn’t at all different from his normal wake-up time. Besides, he knew for a fact that Travis would be up. He’d become rather friendly with a young engineer on the night shift. One familiar face was better than none.

Sure enough, the helmsman sat at one of the window tables, conversing with the very same engineer. Malcolm watched them with a small smirk as he went to grab a tray. He didn’t know the engineer’s name, but he could see why Travis liked her. She seemed to be on the tall side, her frizzy black hair only adding to her height. Malcolm watched as she went off in some explanation, her eyes wide with excitement; hands jerking in wild gestures.

At some point he realized he was staring and quickly averted his gaze. Fortunately, they seemed not to have noticed. He headed for an empty table.

“Lieutenant!” Travis called. “Why are you about to sit alone? I thought we were friends.”

Malcolm took a hesitant step towards them. “I… wouldn’t want to intrude,” he said. The engineer – the tag on her jumpsuit read “W. Cadrin” – smiled politely and shook her head. “I should be leaving anyway. I have to cover for Benny in the afternoon.”

“See you tomorrow?” Travis asked. He was obviously trying, though failing, to conceal the amount of hope in his voice. Crewman Cadrin nodded. “Of course!”

She went on her way and Malcolm took her empty seat rather awkwardly. Travis seemed unfazed by the switch of company. “You’re up early,” the helmsman remarked. Malcolm shrugged and began poking at his omelette. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Ah.”

Silences were becoming part of the routine by now. This time, though, Malcolm was the one to break it.

“What’s her name?”

Travis blinked. “Who?”

“Don’t be daft! The crewman. The engineer you were just talking to. W. Cadrin.”

“ _Winnie_ Cadrin,” Travis said. “Head of engineering between twelve and six in the morning. I met her on one of my… midnight mess hall raids.”

“So _that’s_ where all the snacks keep disappearing to,” Malcolm joked. Travis chuckled and sighed, a somewhat tipsy smile crossing his face. “She’s been assigned to Shuttlepod One.”

“How do you mean?”

“ _Now_ who’s daft?” Travis retorted. “Maintenance. Fixing it up. Apparently, it’ll take weeks to repair whatever damage blowing out the engine did.”

An unwarranted sense of defence crept up on Malcolm. “We did it to be seen,” he said quietly. Travis’s smile faltered. “I know that. A brilliant idea, in my opinion. It’s pissing the engineers off, though.”

Malcolm shoved a large piece of omelet in his mouth to avoid replying. Unfortunately, Travis remained clueless to the hint.

“You know, I’m starting to wonder if you and those shuttlepods have some kind of a curse.”

Malcolm stopped chewing and looked up. “Excuse me?”

“Think about it.” The helmsman’s grin reached from ear to ear. “You remember that time on the comet, with the snowman?”

“Where the Vulcans kept waiting for us to make an error?”

“Yeah, that. Our shuttle dropped metres below the ice and then almost trapped us. And now you’ve narrowly managed to escape a similar fate on the exact same shuttlepod. I’m telling you, Lieutenant; it’s a curse.”

If the smile on Travis’s face was anything to go by, he obviously meant for it to be taken lightly, but Malcolm wasn’t in a light mood anymore. He couldn’t even look the man in the eye, so he just stared at his hands.

“Ensign,” Malcolm began slowly, “I hardly think that some… curse is responsible for what happened in either of those situations.”

Travis’s smile disappeared entirely this time. “I’m sorry, sir.” The formality of his tone made Malcolm visibly wince.

“I did not mean to be insensitive, sir, I-”

“It’s alright, Travis,” Malcolm cut him off, sighing. “It’s my fault. I haven’t been myself.” _Learn to take a joke, Lieutenant,_ his mind taunted.

“Well, I’m sure once Phlox clears you for duty you’ll be back to normal in no time.” Travis’s usual cheer was back, though somewhat strained.

 _Look what you did,_ said the accusing voice in Malcolm’s mind.

Malcolm forced a smile and went back to his breakfast, but his appetite had vanished. He wished he could travel back in time and erase the whole conversation.

“How have things been on the bridge, Ensign?” Malcolm tried. Travis, a hint of surprise in his gaze, looked up from the PADD he’d been examining. After only a beat of hesitation, he answered. “Pretty quiet, sir. We found a volcanic planet not too far away that I’m supposed to set a course to once my shift starts. No away teams.”

That last part was definitely added for his benefit, Malcolm decided.

“I don’t think they’d last five seconds, anyway. The whole planet’s covered in active volcanos and lava seas. You ever play ‘the floor is lava’ as a kid?”

A distinct memory resurfaced. A young boy Malcolm met in middle school, whom he’d invited over for a playdate. His name was Calum. Or was it Caiden? He couldn’t be sure.

Calum/Caiden came from a large family: six children, divorced, though close, parents, and numerous cousins. Calum/Caiden was the second youngest in the family and often left to his own devices. It was he who taught Malcolm the “floor is lava” game. The young Brit had enjoyed it immensely. There was something about leaping from couch to footstool to chair that was fresh and exhilarating.

And then Stuart Reed had come home from work. That had been the last time Malcolm was allowed to invite a friend over.

Realizing Travis was still expecting an answer, Malcolm, back in the present, swallowed dryly and offered a small smile. “A couple times.”

“This planet is like someone took that game and made it literal. And, damn, if I don’t want to give it a shot.”

Malcolm raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you just say we wouldn’t last five seconds?”

“It would be the best five seconds of my life,” Travis laughed.

Malcolm’s self-consciousness returned when the mess began filling up. Suddenly much too aware of his day-old stubble, bedhead hair, and the exact same sweatpants he’d worn yesterday, the Lieutenant offered a short “see you later” to Travis and excused himself.

Perhaps the conversation had worn him out. As soon as his door slid open, Malcolm felt himself sway unsteadily on his feet. Exhaustion threatened to put him to sleep right then and there.

 _My sleep schedule is going all out of whack,_ he thought before promptly collapsing onto his bed, burying his face in the pillow.

He dreamt he was on that volcano planet that Travis told him about. Calum/Caiden was with him. They were running away from something. He didn’t know what.

In an extraordinary turn of events, it was Malcolm’s own body which woke him up. Not an alarm. Not a door chime. Merely his brain telling him _enough sleep._

Malcolm blinked the fuzziness out of his eyes and sat up. He’d gotten himself tangled in the sheets again, but at least they weren’t on the floor. His pillow remained where he’d last seen it. No visual indication of any nightmare.

 _That’s suspicious,_ Malcolm thought with a dry laugh. He looked to his computer, where the time read 1120. Nearly five hours of blissful, well-deserved rest.

Malcolm exchanged his sweatpants for a pair of jeans and shrugged on a thin white jumper over a black T-shirt. _Now, then,_ he thought, and stretched his arms over his head. _What fun things am I going to get up to today?_

He had a day left before he could officially return to duty. Phlox had warned both him and Trip against strenuous activity, though Malcolm suspected it was directed at the engineer rather than him. Aside from pressing a few buttons, Malcolm’s job was easy.

Physically speaking.

He didn’t like thinking about it too much. Unfortunately, the abundance of spare time had caused many similar things to grope and claw at the back of his mind.

If he were to participate in an away mission, the physical work was increased greatly, but Malcolm had the feeling he wouldn’t be cleared for such things for a while. Not if Phlox had any say in it.

His intercom buzzed.

_“Phlox to Lieutenant Reed.”_

Well, speak of the devil.

“Reed here.”

_“Lieutenant! I called you an hour ago, but you didn’t respond.”_

“Oh. I was… sleeping.”

 _“Well, I’m glad.”_ Malcolm could practically hear the doctor’s smile. _“You obviously needed it. Anyway, I’m afraid I must call you down to sickbay for a brief examination. Routine medical procedure as per your upcoming clearance back into duty.”_

“I’m on my way.”

Other than Phlox, T’Pol was the only other officer in sickbay, much to Malcolm’s surprise. Then again, it was very possible she was merely asking for something for a headache. Malcolm imagined being around humans gave her a lot of those.

“Lieutenant,” the Vulcan said when she noticed him. “You seem to be faring much better than the last time I saw you.”

“Indeed,” Malcolm muttered. He still found it… _awkward_ to look her in the eye. If T’Pol found it strange she did not voice her concern and promptly walked away.

Trip came dashing through the doors as Malcolm was shrugging his jacket back on.

“Sorry I’m late, doc,” the engineer panted. “Lost track o’ time. Oh, hey, Malcolm.”

“Hey, Trip.” Malcolm grinned.

Either getting a decent amount of sleep caused it or perhaps it was a delayed influence of Trip’s overwhelming positivity, but Malcolm felt more light-hearted than he’d been since they were rescued. He ate lunch alone, of course, but found the time to converse with a group of ensigns who’d started hanging about in the mess hall. One of their birthdays was coming up, apparently. They’d been given permission by the captain to throw a small party, as long as there wasn’t too much alcohol involved.

A message alert blinked on his computer screen when he got back to his quarters. Two alerts, actually. Malcolm sat down at his desk and opened the first one.

_On course for Y-Zeta-050, AKA the volcano planet. Get your most heat resistant boots ready. Travis._

Warmth blossomed in Malcolm’s chest. He chuckled and filed the message under _Mayweather._

The next one was from Captain Archer, sent merely a half hour ago, and held a significantly less light-hearted tone. Accompanying it was a short note of apology. _I meant to inform you of this the morning after you and Trip returned._

Malcolm opened the document and involuntarily sucked in a breath, the warmth from before evaporating. In great detail, the report explained how a Tesnian ship had been destroyed when it attempted to dock with Enterprise. The starship had managed to escape relatively unscathed, save for a couple of plating areas.

Malcolm read through it twice. Then a third time. He felt as though a weight had been lifted. Perhaps some part of him still expected to wake up in that bloody shuttlepod, the wreckage of Enterprise below them, light years away from salvation.

That part of him was gone now.

Then he caught sight of the notice Archer had pinned to the end of the document.

_We’ll be needing a report from you and Trip as well, if it’s not too much trouble._

And suddenly it felt _wrong_ to be so happy in the wake of a grim situation.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Malcolm repeated quietly. Had it not been for that last part, he’d be happy to submit a report. Things were different when it was an order, but this wasn’t an order. Captain Archer was making a request, tiptoeing around the situation, and Malcolm found he didn’t like it.

 _Then_ treat _it like an order,_ his mind went. _Write a report. That’s what’s expected from you in any situation._

His words to Trip back in the shuttle floated back. “ _I’m just being realistic, Commander.”_

It was time to claim that realistic approach once more.

This wasn’t personal. This was work.

“Computer, start recording.”

The computer chimed in response and opened a new document. Malcolm stood up and began to pace, unable to sit still any longer.

“Lieutenant Reed – Lieutenant _Malcolm_ Reed reporting. November 14th, 2151.” He paused. “After Trip and I finished testing-”

_Commander Tucker, damnit, not ‘Trip’._

“Computer, start over.” Malcolm didn’t try to hide the exasperation in his voice. If he couldn’t get one simple thing right…

“Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, Away Team Report. November 14th, 2151. After Commander Tucker and I concluded test of the targeting scanners, we proceeded to the rendezvous point. While we saw no sign of _Enterprise_ at first, it soon became clear that…” Malcolm trailed off, frowning. “Computer, pause.”

Nothing, in fact, had “become clear” when he and Trip first caught sight of the debris. They thought it had, but it turned out they’d been wrong. “Computer, delete that last sentence. Resume recording.”

It gave a whirr of confirmation.

“At first, we could see no sign of _Enterprise_ and assumed it to be because of our early arrival. And then we saw the wreckage.”

Great, now he was beginning to sound like a mystery novel. Malcolm let out a mutter of annoyance and flopped onto his bunk. “Computer. Delete that entire recording.”

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. Normally, he had no problem making these sorts of reports. Even back on Terra Nova, when he compiled a report to Captain Archer, the fact that he’d been trapped down there with a bullet in his leg hadn’t fazed him.

 _Get over it,_ said his inner voice, as cold as ever. _It’s a report. Stop being so pathetic and just get it done._

A humourless chuckle escaped from his lips. “Bloody hell,” he murmured. “What kind of security officer am I?”

Malcolm resumed his pacing, not caring if it made a crevice in the floor.


	5. Day Three: Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, it's finally done! 11k words and a month later, this fic is complete!  
> Well, the first draft of it at least.  
> I am probably gonna go back and rewrite this at some point, since there's a lot of parts I'm not too thrilled about. 
> 
> Oh, speaking of, I rewrote chapter four [as of May 24th]! There's only a few slight modifications but I highly recommend rereading it before you continue to this chapter.
> 
> Enjoy reading and ty for sticking with me! <3

Malcolm’s report writing, or lack-there-of, stretched past the late afternoon and well into the early evening. He had a headache and briefly contemplated asking Phlox for something but decided against it. He knew the doctor would tell him to “just rest”, as if it could cure everything. Malcolm didn’t have time for rest. He’d get around to it, yes, but not now.

Of course, Archer never specified an exact day he wanted the report, and his note made it sound more like an option than an obligation. Still, Malcolm found it useful to imagine he was working under a deadline.

No matter how stressed out it could make him feel.

“Tr- Commander Tucker and I soon discovered one of our O2 cylinders had been ruptured as well, leaving us with less than two days of air remaining. While still under the impression _Enterprise_ was destroyed, we-”

Without thinking, Malcolm slammed his fist down on the desk. The sudden outburst surprised _him_ just as much as it seemed to surprise the single photo frame on his desk, judging by the way it had jumped. “Computer, stop.”

He wasn’t getting anywhere. Malcolm groaned and flopped onto his bed, burying his face in his hands.

Had Trip been told to write a report as well? Malcolm hadn’t seen him since the run-in at sickbay earlier. It seemed plausible.

Then again, it was equally plausible to assume that the Commander was down in engineering definitely-not-working or in the mess hall getting drunk at that Ensign’s party.

 _Worth a shot,_ Malcolm thought. He hauled himself to his feet and buzzed Trip’s quarters. Silence responded. Déjà vu hit and for a moment, Malcolm became absolutely convinced that the Commander was in danger.

_Get a grip!_

He called the mess hall.

 _“Yeah,”_ came the reply. _“Who’s callin’?”_

Malcolm blinked. “Trip?”

_“Yeah. Who- oh, Malcolm! Whaddya need?”_

Music played in the background, too muffled for Malcolm to make out anything beyond the general beat. Late 30s, by the sounds of it.

“Commander, I’m sorry to have to pull you away from your… festivities, but I need your help with something.”

“ _Malcolm Reed needs_ my _help?”_ Trip’s voice is slightly slurred. _“Will do. Oi, Vince, I’m gunna run!”_

Vince seems to reply but whatever he said, Malcolm can’t hear.

 _“Be there in a sec,”_ Trip says back into the intercom. _“I’ll bring you a beer.”_

“Trip, no-”

The line disconnects with a click. Malcolm sighs heavily and shakes his head. Bloody Trip. This hadn’t been the best idea after all.

Sure enough, when Trip rang his doorbell, he had two beers in his hands a massive lopsided grin on his face. Malcolm raised an eyebrow, not at all surprised that the man had kept his word.

“I’m not that drunk,” said Trip immediately, placing one of the beers down on Malcolm’s desk. “I’ve only had one.”

“Huh.”

“I swear it!” The engineer folded his arms like a pouty child. “Anyway, what did’ya need?”

Realizing he wasn’t getting out of this the easy way, Malcolm sighed. “The Captain asked me to write a report about our shuttlepod incident. You didn’t get a similar message, did you?”

Trip frowned and seemed to think for a moment, before shaking his head. “None that I can remember. But if the Cap’n asked you specifically, why drag me all the way here?”

“I thought perhaps the Captain would want both sides of the account.”

“Both sides?” Trip scoffed. “What, were you in a whole different shuttlepod, then?”

“You have to admit, we both have… very different views on the situation.” _If different means realistic versus fantastical, at least._

Trip scoffed again. “Well, if you wanna get an _accurate_ report, we’d be better off just re-enact the entire thing.”

“Commander, will you take this seriously?” Malcolm snapped. He was growing tired of the engineer’s laidback attitude. “I thought our experiences in the shuttlepod would have sobered you up. Apparently, I was wrong. You still see work as some sort of… option. Nothing matters in your world does it? Nothing sinks in. Not then; not now.”

Malcolm was surprised to find himself out of breath after his short outburst. He covered his mouth with his hand and turned away from Trip. _Got to stop losing your bloody cool in front of senior officers,_ he told himself.

The silence soon proved to be unbearable. Malcolm opened his mouth to say something, but fortunately, Trip beat him to the punch.

“I think being sober is the last thing either of us needs, Lieutenant.”

Trip sighed and reached for the beer bottle on the counter. “Truth is, I lied when I said I only had one beer. I’d had two.” He held out the bottles to Malcolm. “These’re both fer you.”

Malcolm blinked and turned to face him. “Excuse me?”

“C’mon, we ain’t on duty, right?” the engineer said with a wink. “Take ‘em.”

“I’m not-”

“Take ‘em, Malcolm. Don’t tell me yer as stuck up as you make us believe.”

“I am not ‘stuck-up’,” Malcolm defended. “Unlike you, I just happen to take my job seriously.”

Trip eventually placed the bottles back down on the desk and stared at him, his eyes half narrowed. “What kind o’ drink d’you favour?”

“I don’t see the relevance to that question.”

“Fine. Here’s a relevant question: how long’ve you been workin’ on that report there?”

Malcolm pursed his lips into a thin line. “In total? Close to four and a half hours.”

“Four and a half _hours_?” Trip repeated, his eyes wide. “In my very professional opinion, yer overdue for a break.”

“It’s fine, Trip. Really.” Malcolm closed the report document with a sigh. “Go back to that party.”

“Nuh-uh.” Trip waggled a finger. “No way. Look, if you don’t want both o’ these, you can have one. Deal?”

Without waiting for an answer, Trip shoved one of the beers into Malcolm’s hand. Malcolm’s eyes drifted to the door, as if expecting Captain Archer to burst in and lecture them about drinking on duty. _I’m not on duty,_ he reminded himself.

“Yer worrying again, Lieutenant,” Trip drawled with a smile. “I know that look on yer face. Just cool it already, will ya?”

The engineer popped open his own beer and held it up. “To optimism.”

“Sheer, dumb luck,” Malcolm retorted, grinning.

One beer was certainly not enough to get drunk off of, but Trip’s own tipsiness seemed to be contagious, as did his optimistic outlook seem to as well.

The engineer launched into one of his many childhood tales, this time about the first time he got drunk, and Malcolm found himself only half listening. Most of his focus was on Trip’s radiant smile; the way laughing was almost a second language to him. It was a stark contrast to the way Malcolm had been raised. Formal posture, formal speaking, formal _everything._ Not to say he didn’t appreciate all the things his upbringing taught him, but he did wonder how different things would be had he been raised around smiles and friendly teasing.

“Oi, Malcolm,” Trip said, dragging the officer back to reality. Malcolm blinked. “Hm?”

“You were starin’. Have I got somethin’ on my face?”

“No,” Malcolm chuckled. “It’s nothing.”

But Trip shot him a look that said _I don’t believe you_ and Malcolm discovered just how much second-hand drunkenness could loosen his tongue.

“Alright. I suppose I’m just curious how you always manage to… look on the bright side. Even in, erm, dangerous situations.”

Malcolm expected Trip to crack a smile, laugh, and give him a friendly punch. _“Always the grim reaper, eh?”_

But Trip didn’t crack a smile; didn’t laugh; didn’t joke. Instead, Trip’s face fell, making him look a lot older. More worn out. His gaze moved down at his hands and he didn’t look up again, not even when he started talking.

“Malcolm, you wear a mask, right?”

“No-” Malcolm cut himself off, realizing Trip meant figuratively and not literally. “Well…”

“Yes, you do. If you say otherwise, I’m afraid I don’t believe you.” The words were obviously meant to be light-hearted, but Trip’s tone said otherwise. “You wear a mask. So, do I. I mean, I’m definitely a positive person no matter what, but the overconfidence in the shuttle? The denial? I _knew_ how grave the situation was, Malcolm. Yeah, a part o’ me didn’t wanna believe it, but I was entirely aware. Thanks to you.”

The look on Trip’s face made it clear the words were not a conscience choice, but it didn’t make them sting any less. Suddenly, Malcolm felt unable to look up either. He focused his gaze on his own hands and mumbled, “sorry.”

“Aw, Malcolm.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Malcolm saw Trip raise his hand to touch his shoulder, but ultimately decided against it.

“’s not yer fault,” the engineer continued. His voice had become subdued, as if talking to a frightened animal. Malcolm only shook his head.

“If I’d known,” the Lieutenant began, “I would never have voiced my opinions aloud such as I did. Actually, no, that’s no excuse. My behaviour was childish and panic-driven.”

This time Trip really did put a hand on his shoulder.

“God, will you shut up?” he drawled. “Quit blamin’ yerself for this. Yer approach was realistic, and I should’ve been the one following _yer_ lead.”

“Trip,” Malcolm said, lifting his head, “you were – are – my commanding officer and I should have listened to your instructions.”

“Aw, hell.” Trip flopped back with an exasperated sigh. “I’m not doin’ this all night. Look, we both said we’re sorry. Now, forget it.” He glanced at the clock. “Will’s party’ll be done by now. Cap’n gave us a curfew of midnight. Party-pooper.”

“What does he think we are – teenagers?”

“Apparently. Anyway, wanna go raid what’s let o’ the alcohol?”

“Actually -” Malcolm yawned “- I think I’ll be heading to bed.”

“Lame,” Trip teased, “but alright.”

As Trip stood up, a thought suddenly surfaced in Malcolm’s mind.

“Commander?” he asked, voice coy.

Trip, his hand hovering over the door controls, frowned at the sudden change in Malcolm’s tone. It sounded boyish, almost mischievous. “Yeah-” he began to ask, which is when a pillow hit him square in the back of the neck.

Trip whirled around and came face to face with Malcolm, who was grinning smugly, his arm still in release position. “Payback,” the Lieutenant said. “Alright, you can leave now.”

“Not so fast.”

Trip bent down and snatched the pillow back up before hurling it as hard as he could. Unfortunately, Malcolm ducked out of the way with impression speed and tumbled onto the floor. The wide grin on his face was unfamiliar but not at all unwelcome, and Trip found himself mirroring it. “Goodnight, Lieutenant.”

“Goodnight, Commander.”

 _Childish,_ sneered the voice in the back of his head. Malcolm rolled his eyes. Who cared if it was childish? Not him. Not anymore, at least.

Malcolm awoke - not the for first time, and certainly not the last – drenched in a cold sweat and tangled up in his bedsheets. His heart threatened to burst out of his chest and his breathing was shallow and quick.

Panic seized him. _Trip!_ screamed his mind. He lurched into a sitting position and almost leapt for the intercom, when something stopped him.

The knowledge that Trip was indeed safe and sound, on the ship. That his nightmare had been nothing more than his “subconscious mind trying to figure things out”, as Phlox had put it.

Trip was safe. _Malcolm_ was safe.

They were both safe.

With this thought lingering, Malcolm slowly lay back down and let sleep take him away.


End file.
